


Full Circle

by santino



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: AU where your soulmate's first words to you is written on your wrist, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Child Neglect, M/M, Soulmarks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 22:36:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santino/pseuds/santino
Summary: Some lines can be parallel. Some intersect and never meet again. Some non-existent.





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, oops

Some lines can be parallel. Some intersect and never meet again. Some non-existent. 

-  
John had a mother once, like every other child. And a father, though he never met him. His mother wasn’t there for him for a very long time, but it was more than many children could ask for. 

He didn’t have much memories. She was always either passed out or out for the night, he understood it’s so they could eat. There were times when she wouldn’t come back for days and when she does, she’d be too tired or bruised to go out again. 

In those times, John learned to bring in food for himself, however he’d get it. People liked children, they’re fast and with plenty of energy, easily bought—he’d deliver paper, food. Information, and those plastic bags containing things he didn’t know yet, but he’d have to be silent and secretive when he delivered them.

John knew what love was. He was human, he was familiar of it. Saw it in his mother’s eyes in the times she was home and she’d beckon for him to come closer, when she was either tired or couldn’t walk straight. He soaked it in when he could, he knew these things were precious. He closed his eyes and drank it in when his mother left a kiss on his forehead, breath smelling of nicotine and alcohol, her very presence warming him. It would be enough. When she sobered, she’d forget he existed, but that would be fine. He’d gotten what he needed.

John was fifteen when he was woken by a searing pain and watched Fate write the last letters in rapt wonder, eyes following the lines form themselves on his wrist into the first words his intended would tell him. 

On that day, his soulmate was born. 

He'd plopped back on his stiff bed, looking up the ceiling of the dingy apartment, hand holding his wrist and tried to imagine a child already with words on their own skin. He had swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut. In that moment, he'd felt like a line had started moving, searching for the other half of their pair. 

This was the sealing of his fate. In only a matter of time, he was going to be something to somebody. He tried to figure out how he felt, but could only conjure a sense of idle curiosity. 

Somebody out there was his.

He turned to his side with something warm settling in his chest, his mouth flat but for the beginnings of a smile. 

The next morning, he heard his mother sigh deeply before he even heard her footsteps. She was still beautiful in a way sons would always see their mothers to be. But she had also been worn down by time and substance, looking older than her age. He can see years of exhaustion clear on the set of her eyes, eyes that gazed at his marked wrist with sadness belonging to someone who knew the pain of an unsaid soulmark, years of longing and disappointment.

“I was hoping you’d never get it,” was what she told him. He knew people like those—a blank wrist. His mother wasn’t one. “It would only fool you into thinking happy endings exist,” she adds with a rue chuckle. “I mean, I ended up well even though I never met mine, right? All those years. You’re better off on your own.”

Some lines are parallel: running in the same world, but never to meet.

It wasn’t a secret that his father wasn’t his mother’s soulmate. And even though he’s heard his mother say countless times that soulmarks are things of bullshit, he could still see her looking at it forlornly, like hoping for what could have been. But then she follows up with a bitter “For what? Many soulmates don’t make it together anyways.”

John tried not to stare at her soulmark. ‘Pretty flowers for a beautiful girl?’ What once was black was now a dull grey. He covered his own and ignores she said anything. 

-

Sometimes he dreams. Of plush mouth and a straight nose—one that was scrunched up in a way that was endearing. It only came by in flashes, like snapshots blinded by sun’s flares; only parts of an image were discernable.

-  
John liked to listen to people tell stories of meeting their soulmates. They were happy, sometimes simple, sometimes funny. In his time in the Marines, it served as a downtime for some people. Anything to assuage their boredom, or just plain distraction, anything to take their minds off from the desert. 

_“Laurie, she’s my darling. Met her in a bar, she was tending. She asked me, ‘Handsome, what’s your poison?’ I looked up, stricken and saw the most beautiful girl—my mouth just said ‘A cup of you, if I may.’ And those were our words.”_

_“I always knew he was going to be the weirdest bunch. I had a weird sentence on my wrist since my youth and was so baffled by it. One day the sun was shining brightly but it was raining still. Man beside me in the bus stop said ‘A centaur must be getting married’ gesturing to the sky. And I said, in surprise, ‘Oh, so that’s what it means!’ As if it made one damn bit of sense Those were our words. It was the funniest thing.”_

"Your mark is interesting." Dick was on John’s cot, watching him change clothes. John would have to shoo him out, he thinks, before anybody returned to the tent.

"What?" John asks dumbly, zipping his pants up. He looked down at his wrist and indulged himself. And then he quickly pulled on his long-sleeves to hide the aforementioned soulmark. "Guess it is,” but he left it at that. 

Dick was silent where he was, contemplative. He had a black band wrapped tightly around his wrist, where his own soulmark should be. Never took it off. John understood, somehow. You bare your body to someone but never your soul. 

John was picking up the man's shirt to give to their owner in hopes he'd leave, hesitating, when Dick spoke. "I found mine when I was twelve.” John’s head perked up, the cloth in his hands. “He was younger than me. We couldn't be anything more at that point, you know? I heard some people stay that way anyways. We were adopted by the same man; so brothers it is.” Dick had a small smile on his face, and his eyes far from this desert. 

John waited for the rest, hoping for a happy ending.

“We never had a chance too. He died young." Dick sighed heavily. "But the mark stayed." 

John sat on the bed, thinking. It was the first time he had heard of this story. He had known Dick for enough time, training with him in the Marines, being deployed together, and had heard him tell different stories about his mark. This one was the bleakest, and looking at Dick’s faraway look—it was probably the one closest to the truth. 

Some lines intersect once, and then never again.

“Have you seen yours, John?” And that empty smile was back on his face again.

John blinked and met Dick’s eyes. “No.”

“Well, when you do, cherish it,” Dick stretched languidly. “You’ll never get another one again.” Dick was silent as he left John’s cot, slipping on the rough-hewn white shirt.

 

There was a man loitering around the base when John was called to talk to the higher-ups. 

John knew what he was getting called for, the other week he had gotten into a fight with a one-star, no-good bit. He can’t even remember what he was angry for. He was already ready to pack his bags, thinking he doesn’t care even if they sent him to the brig. John was going nowhere where he was. Dick had looked at him disappointedly. John only looked away.

The line was drifting too far from its other half. 

-

Other Than Honorable Discharge. Said John should be thankful they didn’t accuse him of aggravated assault. He left the office feeling empty when a man stood up from his seat and made his way over.

“I have a job offer for you.” The guy introduced himself as Marcus. John hadn’t seen him before, but the man claimed to have witnessed him and his skills. “You only need to say yes. I think it will suit you.”

John looked at him warily. “I’ll think about it,” was what he said. A calling card was slipped onto his hand and John returned to where he can finish packing his bags.

In the flight back to New York he dreamt again. Same pale skin, flushed cheeks, a cupid’s bow. Mouth parted in surprise. It came by in quick successions, like long-lost pictures being thrown on the ground and he was left to pick them up and see the pieces before they vanish again. In this time there were sound. Two words that rang in his ears even when he woke up, unforgettable.

He pulled the jacket closer to himself, one hand gripping his knee as he stops both from shaking.

John took a swig from his water bottle, thumb pressing against his wrist where the two words were imprinted like a physical reminder. When his plane lands on New York, he gives Marcus a call.

**Author's Note:**

> Sun showers, or raining in a sunny day means a human horse is getting married in Filipino superstitions.
> 
> Also, when somebody told me I could do anything in my fic, my brain definitely said, yeah let's put Dick Grayson in it. I'm only a slave to my chemicals.
> 
> In my defense, I was sick writing this.
> 
> come yell at me on  
> twitter: @santinodantonio  
> tumblr: @richmafiason


End file.
